


here you are in my arms

by princessoftheworlds



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season/Series 02, Sick Jack, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25542583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessoftheworlds/pseuds/princessoftheworlds
Summary: It’s not even a day later that Jack starts coughing while sitting on the couch in Ianto’s flat. Ianto’s never heard him cough before, never even heard Jack sneeze. Those fifty-first century genetics must prevent allergies.An hour later, when Ianto notices the heavy sheen of sweat on Jack’s forehead and the slight shivering despite it being the dead of summer, Ianto orders Jack to bed.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 8
Kudos: 88





	here you are in my arms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yavemiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yavemiel/gifts).



> For Ro who asked for fluff, hurt/comfort, and sickfic with Jack sick. Happy Birthday Ro! I hope you enjoy this!

The thing is, Jack  _ does  _ know better than to handle an alien object that fell through the Rift without proper precautions and protections. Jack knows the Torchwood rulebook cover-to-cover; he’s basically  _ written  _ the rulebook.

He wears gloves when he picks up the cube-sized device and places it in the sealed container. He carries it carefully into the SUV and carefully into the Hub when the SUV parks in the underground garage. With a spike of Rift energy this unexpected, he isn’t going to let his team anywhere near the object. 

So it isn’t his fault when just before examining the device, it accidentally slips against the bare skin between his glove and his shirt cuff and makes a clicking sound before spraying him in the face with bright green mist.

Immediately, the Hub descends into chaos. Jack himself stumbles into a Weevil cell and waits for the entire team to dress in hazmat suits before Owen shoves him into the medical area. Tosh, Gwen, and Ianto watch from nearby, concerned expressions visible through the opaque plastic of their face masks.

“Bloody brilliant,” Owen says, frowning when his scanner reports no trace of anything foreign in or around Jack’s body. 

“What if it’s something we’ve never encountered before, that we don’t know how to calibrate the scanners for?” frets Tosh. She almost steps closer, but Ianto’s firm hand on her shoulder stops her; she can sense the tension and fear strumming through his body by just how tight his grip is.

“It’ll be fine, guys.” Jack grins brilliantly. “These scanners are forty-fourth Rian technology; they will be one of the most medically-advanced races in the universe. Besides.” His voice takes on its typical lightness. “I’m a fifty-first century guy.” Not that he ever really elaborates on what that means. “I’ll be fine.”

Worse words never spoken.

It’s not even a day later that Jack starts coughing while sitting on the couch in Ianto’s flat. Ianto’s never heard him cough before, never even heard Jack sneeze. Those fifty-first century genetics must prevent allergies. 

An hour later, when Ianto notices the heavy sheen of sweat on Jack’s forehead and the slight shivering despite it being the dead of summer, Ianto orders Jack to bed.

* * *

“Are you sure you don’t need us to come in?” asks Ianto urgently, voice pitched low, eyes aimed at the bathroom door. He can still hear the water running, but sometimes, Jack will just wander out of the shower fully nude and dripping to grab a snack to enjoy while showering. He has no respect for Ianto’s water bill and for twenty-first century etiquette. 

“No,” Tosh tells him, her words slow and staggered like she’s not entirely in the conversation. She’s probably running simulations for her newest cyberdefense program at the same time. “Owen managed to identify the device based on similar tech in the archives, and don’t worry; I’m the one who actually went down there. It’s of Alban origin, basically a child’s toy but with the unfortunate tendency to infect humans with a slightly more severe version of the common cold. It’s actually quite fascinating how the technology interacts with human-”

“ _ Tosh _ !” 

“Right, sorry, Ianto.”

Ianto sighs. “So Jack should recover?”

“Owen assures me that Jack will be fine once his body fights the virus off,” confirms Tosh. “By his time, humans may have become immune to diseases we consider common, but this specific cold virus seems to be a bit unusual. Unusual but harmless. Owen could tell you more if you’re interested.”

“It’s fine, Tosh,” Ianto says, rolling his eyes. He has no desire to converse with Owen at this particular moment.

“On the bright side, the Rift seems to be quiet for the next few days, so consider it a bit of time off. Stay home, take care of Jack. I, for one, am going to spend this time catching up on old movies.”

When Tosh finally says goodbye, Ianto leaves his cell phone on his nightstand and journeys into his kitchen to drink his second cup of coffee. He’s going to need it today. Eventually, Jack pads out of the bedroom, feet quiet against the carpet, thankfully dressed for once. 

“Was that Tosh?” he calls, towelling his hair dry. Ianto wrinkles his nose at where the collar of Jack’s shirt is already damp. “Where does she need us?”

“Nowhere,” Ianto tells him, dodging Jack’s hands as he tries to sneak a kiss. Up close, he notices the tired circles underneath Jack’s eyes, the redness of his nose, the slight rasp to his voice. Seems that the fever is setting in quickly, judging by how Jack is swaying where he stands. “We’ve been given the next few days off. The Rift predictor is quiet for a while.”

Jack scowls, already irritable from the cold if his snotty, clogged inhales and short breaths are any indication. “I’m the boss; I’m the one who gives the orders.” He tries to duck around Ianto but wobbles on his feet. “I need to get to the Hub.”

Ianto places firm hands on Jack’s shoulders and stirs him back to the bedroom. “The only place you need to be going is bed. Try and sleep a little, Jack. I’ll be back soon, just going to go pick up some supplies.”

* * *

At Tesco, a bewildered Ianto scans the aisle, hands twitching. He doesn’t know what to add to his basket. Jack’s never been sick before; he’s not supposed to be able to get sick. What are you supposed to give to an immortal man?

Eventually, calm floods back in. Jack is still human - mostly - and still a man. It’s simple. Cold medicine. Oranges. Several kinds of soups. Quick porridge mixes. Several brands of teas. Tissues. On a sudden last whim, he even purchases two Cadbury chocolate bars for Jack for when his appetite returns.

When he returns to his flat, Jack is still knocked out on the bed, but he’s shivering, so Ianto covers with him another blanket. Then he sits by Jack’s side.

The other man is curled in tightly on himself, head nestled on a pillow stolen from Ianto’s side of the bed. He has his arms wrapped around another pillow, pulling it close to his chest. Jack’s eyes twitch rapidly under his eyelids, and if Ianto hadn’t experienced the restlessness and lack of breath that accompanies a common cold himself, he would have assumed that Jack was having a nightmare. 

“Oh, Jack,” Ianto says and gently strokes along Jack’s sweat-damp hairline. 

“Wha?” Groggily, Jack lifts his head, eyes narrowing. “Ianto, what are you doing here?” he slurs. “You were going to the shops.”

Ianto gives him an amused look. “That was an hour ago.” He follows Jack’s bewildered look to the clock that hangs on the opposing wall. “You’ve been sleeping all morning, Jack. Let’s go sit in the living room. You might feel better if you move around a bit, eat lunch maybe.” 

Jack sniffles once, twice before inhaling sharply and stiffening. He snatches the tissue offered to him by Ianto before sneezing rapidly into it. Finally, he lifts his head, glaring at Ianto. “I feel fine. Besides, I’m not hungry.”

“Clearly.” Ianto cocks a disbelieving eyebrow.

“No, don’t raise that eyebrow at me,” protests Jack. A moment later, he sighs, shoulders slumping down. “Fine, I know I’m sick. I guess even alien involvement is sometimes superior to fifty-first century genes.”

“Who would have known?” Ianto replies dryly, but he still wraps an arm around Jack as he lifts from the bed, still draped in the blanket like a burrito, and helps him shuffle forward to the living room to lay on the couch. Ianto then goes to busy himself in the kitchen after he turns the telly on for Jack. “I bought you soup,” he calls from the kitchen.

“I don’t want soup right now,” Jack calls back. Immediately, it’s followed by the sound of five rapidfire sneezes and a low groan. “I hate this.”

“Too bad,” Ianto says, pitching his voice to be heard over the murmur of the telly as he pours the soup into a bowl before placing it into the microwave. From the faint crashes and sound of an explosion, it seems that Jack has settled on an action movie. “It’ll make you feel better.”

The microwave beeps, and Ianto moves to pull the bowl out, but then he catches himself and freezes, wondering for a moment when he and Jack became so domestic. The thought passes quickly, however, when he hears Jack sneeze and cough again. He sweeps back into the living room, setting the bowl of soup on the coffee table.

“I’ll give you the soup in a moment,” Ianto tells Jack, noting how the other man eyes the bowl hungrily despite his protests. Clearly, despite the stuffy nose and light-headedness, he still has a bit of an appetite. “But first you need to take cold medicine.”

Now, Jack scowls. “Ianto, no! Everyone is always complaining about how bloody awful cold medicine is.”

“What are you, a child?” Ianto replies and sets down the bottle of medicine next to the soup. “Now, drink your medicine, and I might blow you once you’re no longer sick.”

“Promising me sex acts for the distant future is not as efficient an incentive as you think,” Jack says, voice muffled by the blanket as he ducks his head to sneeze again, but he still obediently downs the medicine anyways. He winces and makes a face at the taste; Ianto can sympathize. He knows from personal experience how bitter and potent yet effective the stuff is.

After returning the cold medicine to the kitchen, Ianto sits on the couch beside Jack as Jack shovels a spoonful of soup into his mouth. Some liquid slops down the side of his mouth, and Ianto resists the urge to reach and wipe it like a mother hen. Thankfully, Jack wipes it away himself.

“I can’t really taste it,” Jack admits with a sheepish smile that is somehow still charming despite his snotty nose and red eyes, “but it’s warm.”

“It’s better to eat anyways,” comments Ianto as he flicks through programmes on the telly. “At least, you’ll keep your energy up that way.” He chews on a specific thought for a moment. “You’ve really never been sick?”

Jack shakes his head. “Perks of fifty-first century evolution. No one gets a common cold anymore.” He shrugs. “I do know what it’s like. Melissa used-”

Abruptly, he cuts himself off, eyes narrowed, and Ianto is thrown into the ugly lurch of reality, where there is still so much Jack never tells him, so much he’ll never know about the man he’s come to...rely on emotionally. 

“I’m finished,” says Jack lamely minutes later. His spoon clinks pointedly against the bowl as he moves his arm. “Should I take it to the kitchen?”

“No, no.” Ianto jolts to his feet. “I’ve got it.”

When he returns, he notices the way Jack rubs at his head, wincing, brow furrowed. “Do you want me to massage it?” As Jack opens his mouth, smirking, Ianto sighs. “Not your cock, your head.”

“Ianto Jones,” replies Jack, eyes lighting up, “you are a saint.”

Ianto sits back onto the couch, and Jack settles his head in Ianto’s lap. Ianto strokes his hand through Jack’s hair a few times, raking spots he knows to be sensitive with his nails, and Jack purrs, nuzzling his head against the crook of Ianto’s knee. Finally, Ianto begins to rub pressure points around Jack’s skull with the tips of his fingers, rolling the skin there gently. 

Jack groans in relief. “You’ve got magical hands there, Ianto.” Despite the innuendo in the words, Jack’s slurring tone keeps the remark from sounding  _ too  _ sexual. He continues to whimper quietly as Ianto’s hands travel between his forehead and the base of his neck, working over particularly tense bumps. “Why don’t we-” His words are cut off by a sudden yawn as his eyes flicker shut briefly.

“Looks like the medicine’s kicking in,” Ianto says. “I might have forgotten the non-drowsy kind, but we have time and you can use the rest.”

“You make an excellent pillow,” Jack tells him, gazing up at Ianto with wide, trusting eyes that are slowly becoming hazy. “Thank you for taking care of me.” There is an odd bit of vulnerability in his voice that Ianto is not used to hearing. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Only when Ianto knows that Jack’s asleep for sure, having heard the other man’s breathing level out, does he reply, whispering to the quiet living room, the telly long having been muted, “I don’t mind, Jack. Taking care of you is a privilege, one I intend on keeping for a long while.” He swallows down the sudden lump in his throat. “I don’t know what I’d do without you either.”

* * *

Ianto must have dozed off himself at some point, because the next thing he knows, he’s being gently shaken away by Jack himself.

“Hey,” Jack whispers. “You’ve slept the whole day away.”

Ianto blinks up sleepily at the other man, the crink in his neck starting to ache and demand attention. “ _ What _ ?” Then consciousness comes flooding back, and he straightens, wincing at the soreness in his back. His body is going to hate him later for falling asleep sitting up. “Are you alright? Are you feeling better?” The questions come out panicked, surprised, and rapid. 

“A little,” Jack replies. “The cold medicine did help a bit. I only got up an hour ago, walked around the flat, made tea.” 

“That was fast,” notes Ianto, still bewildered. He rakes a hand through his hair.

Jack shrugs. “Fifty-first century genes have to be good for something. I don’t think they kicked this cold to the curb completely however.”

“Well, the fact that you have some energy now is good,” reasons Ianto as he stretches, rising to his feet. He fixes Jack with a stern look. “Though you should still be resting.” 

“Alright, alright,” Jack says, laughing and smiling. “I’ll go back to bed, but you have to join me.” When Ianto begins to protest: “Not sleep, I don’t know if you can sleep any more, but read a book or something? Just sit in bed next to me. Even you have to rest sometime too.”

“I will,” Ianto grumbles, but he still follows Jack into the bedroom nonetheless. As he settles down next to Jack on the bed, he sneaks a look at the other man, watching as he slips under the covers, snuggling closer to Ianto. “You better hope that this virus doesn’t infect me.”

Jack snorts. “We’ve already cuddled today, so I don’t know why you’re complaining.”

“Sometimes,” Ianto begins lightly, stroking his hand through Jack’s hair again, “I don’t know why I even bothered with you, Jack Harkness.”

His remark is returned by a wicked grin and mischievous eyes. “It’s the sex; you only want me for the sex,” teases Jack, words slurring as he drifts back into sleep.

“It’s definitely not for your subtlety,” Ianto says to the silent bedroom. The silence is easier to confess to than Jack. “It might be for your big heart but, most definitely, for that smile.” He sighs. “For some reason, Jack, I don’t know why, but I’ve chosen to love you, and I’m okay with that.”

* * *

It takes Jack another full day to recover from his cold. On the last day of their mini-vacation, when Ianto wakes up sneezing and fuzzy-headed, Jack smiles despite the death glare directed towards him and shoves Ianto into the shower before planning a quick trip to Tesco.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [here](http://princess-of-the-worlds.tumblr.com/) or on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/rajkumarinik) to let me know how much you liked this fic or request a prompt. Also, please comment or drop a line below even if it's to telling me how you've been doing. I thrive on kudos and social interaction, especially in this day and age.


End file.
